A Wolf in a Bird's Clothing
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Wolf Queen Sansa is the last Stark standing, and her story becomes legend. Darker Sansa. Future AU.


**I own nothing. Rights go to George R.R. Martin.**

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They say that The Wolf Queen's father was executed right in front of her when she was just a girl. And that her mother and older brother were among the victims in the Red Wedding. Her two baby brothers were slaughtered by someone they have once trusted; they're bodies haven't been recovered. Later, another conflict near Castle Black cost her bastard brother his life. Then, as the tale goes, her only sister and the remaining piece of her family ends up dying in her arms with The Wolf Queen's old name on her lips, bleeding to death from a battle. That's the first and the last time they had each seen one another other in years.

There are dozens out there who say that The Wolf Queen's heart died that day along with her sister's, for the she has become cold, like the Winter's chill impersonated. Her younger sister before was known for being aggressive and handy with a sword...but The Wolf Queen herself, proves she can be worse than that. She is no longer sweet, and she longer sings. She hunts, she howls.

Her flesh is like steel. It's solid and hardly anything can penetrate it, words or otherwise. Her pale blue eyes are intelligent, unyielding, and can make a person's skin crawl when she'll gaze upon them. Her Tully hair is not black anymore...it's now as red as the blood her whole family has drowned in and it spills graciously to her waistline, and she refuses to pin it all up at once. She likes it flowing wild and free.

Others who dwell in her homeland will whisper that she stalks through the halls of New Winterfell like a lone she-wolf living amongst of sheep, like a hidden prowler amongst the birds. The crown she carries upon her high-held head is made of steel as well in order to match the rest of herself, and it's forged to have precisely seven regal pikes around the rim to honor all of her past family members.

Every so often, one can hear her laughing in the depths of night in all of her bitter glee and misery, or sometimes she'll be seen out running beneath the light of the full moon, moving fast, as if she's fleeing from something, or she's chasing it. Other times she's seen strolling softly through of the Godswoods early in the morning, dressed in all blue and white, like a maiden ghost looking for lost memories...for her stolen innocence.

More and more gossip verifies that she is an expert manipulator who can easily adapt to any new surrounding and she can use any social means necessary to attain her goals. Her growing cruelty has very little limits these days and evidently by now she has torn a few of her emeries apart—quite literally. She destroys her own husband—the one who had brutally raped her—with only her teeth (apparently) and she _eats_ him alive (supposedly). After this, she goes on to kill Lord Petyr Baelish wearing a flattering red feathered gown, tricking him with a sweet kiss laced with poison carefully dabbed around her lips. So whether her next tactic will be forceful or amazingly subtle, none of her adversaries ever know exactly when she'll strike, because she is as patient as the stars above waiting to shine brighter after it gets dark. Her rattling bloodlust is almost undetectable…until it's too late. It is also believed that The Wolf Queen once found the Hound alive, wandering about the farmlands and she cut him down with her sister's Needle too, as a punishment for calling her a _Little Bird_.

She makes it known, that she hates birds, hates the sight of them fluttering around the trees helplessly. Every meal she has must consist of cooked wildfowl and every bird related. To her, these birds are a sign of misfortune and draw up her fears of being trapped and caged. She'd rather devour all of them before she they make her one of them again.

She wants this to be recognized...that she is not free for keeping, by anyone. This is why she refuses to take a King for herself. She insists that she will rule alone, and she will forever reject the pleas of the lords and princes who tend to fall in love her divine appearance so easily.

No one ever dares to conquer the North either. People have tried, yes. And they are seen again. Not even their bones.

And every time she makes her grand entrance she can stun the audience silent. Numerous men in Westeros shall agree that The Wolf Queen's charms actually surpass that of the Dragon Queen Daenerys who has recently reclaimed the Iron Throne, thinking it was hers all along. Queen Daenerys herself, currently sitting up on the mighty Iron Throne the next morning appears utterly speechless to finally behold the last Stark daughter in person during the royal council meeting she has called for.

In fact, everyone is completely frozen, _mesmerized_ , right when The Wolf Queen walks back into the fortress she had tried leaving behind her so long ago. She seems barely fazed by the meeting, or by the esteemed Mother of Dragons. Perhaps she has no reason to be. For the moment the doors open and the guard announces her formal titles to the entire room, so much elegance and pride reflects off her that it puts all the other women around her to shame, and not only that—she arrives with four massive Direwolves, two strolling loyally on each side of her.

The Wolf Queen does not even bow when she reaches the base of the Throne. Queen Daenerys is the one who gawks at her, almost trembling in awe, as she stands and comes down the steps to greet the Stark daughter properly.

The Lannister Imp, who has become a clever addition to Daenerys' inner circle, actually falls to his _knees_ and lightly weeps at the sight of the woman The Wolf Queen has turned into.

Though, in return, The Wolf Queen simply mutters a single phrase of civility before she takes her seat in one of the great golden chairs placed aside for all the highborn figures that were summoned today. Her little pack of Direwolves settle themselves in the same order alongside her chair like her private protectors. She doesn't even have to give the command to do so; they acted on their own accord.

The Wolf Queen ends up spending two nights there with Queen Daenerys before traveling back to the North, though she is somewhat reluctant to do so. She hates the City. The handmaids who are ordered to tend to her grow nervous in the foreign presence of the Direwolves that stay with her and like to huddle around The Wolf Queen in bed as she sleeps. And she spends most of the day hours away from Daenerys' busy Court. She aims for the trees and the ponds and the weeds beyond the high stones walls so the Direwolves can return to nature for a time. So she can be free again too. She allows Tyrion to walk with her both days, but only for an hour or so. His company does not ease the mountain of pain she carries within her and she's only willing to hear so much of his stories or words of comfort. He can't take his eyes off her, shocked by how real she is, but she still dismisses him to rejoin Daenerys.

Later on as the seasons change again, nothing really remains immortal. One by one each of her Direwolves grow old and frail and dies in the tall grass of the Godswoods. The Wolf Queen commissions the iron workers to craft them a grand decorated tomb she can visit there. And she does often. She goes in that shrine and prays to her gods and to her relatives for hours at a time, ending each blessing by reciting the Direwolves names in order.

A second round of Games arise with that following harvest, so naturally the fights start again, and the new batch of killings can't be ignored and in response, The Wolf Queen knows how to play her part well. Within time, the surviving troops in the Fray army go rouge and bow to New Winterfell instead.

The men guard The Wolf Queen while she rides a young black stallion across the fields in shining plates of womanly armor and has her sister's Needle fastened on her belt. She takes her time approaching the enemy's camp even though she can tell their souls are growing restless and are excited to slay them once and for all.

Her so-called Pack of Warriors stalk this threat high up through the rugged mountains, slowly clawing away at their figures as they edge closer and closer to the narrow cliffs. Once they are surely ensnared with no escape route left, The Wolf Queen pounces, releasing her battle cry. She grins wide and beautifully when their foe blood paints the snowcaps red.

A sweet kind of justice, pure and true, for her brother and her mother has been thoroughly earned.

Theon Greyjoy, injured but still breathing, is found among this fallen band of cowards—who which The Wolf Queen has chained and cuffed, and taken back with them to New Winterfell to be trialed. After a long period of debating and discussing the issue with her closest keepers and advisors, the scale of judgement does not hold steady for Theon. He is eventually sentenced to be executed on the night a red moon happens to appear in the sky. As the mighty axe lifts above his neck, the wild wolves begin to howl feverishly from a distance, almost as if to celebrate his defeat. Thus the Wolf Queen knows this must a good thing, that it is the right thing.

She ultimately finishes her crusade by tracking down Jaime Lannister. Save for Tyrion, he's the last of the Lion clan The Wolf Queen officially wants dead.

She uncovers him in a hut right before a thunderstorm is about to break loose. He's thinner and grey lines streak through his long yellow hair. He is the shadow of his father, the shell of the man he once was when she has last seen him. Though Lions always have their pride, even if it may look broken to others. So he does put up a decent enough fight, with all things considered, but fear soon sparks behind his eyes when he starts to tire and lose to The Wolf Queen's elected champion. And dread fills the rest of him as he soaks her in, standing there watching him silently. He realizes her stunning, splendid, haunting face is going to be the last thing he sees before Death claims him.

He surrenders after the final blow and humbly asks The Wolf Queen if he can die with his dignity. The Wolf Queen understands what Jaime is implying, and she decides to grant him that one wish with a curt nod, and then they all witness Jaime slit his own throat while kneeling in the puddles of mud and rain.

Now that's all said and done, The Wolf Queen resettles in New Winterfell for a time to focus on her villagers and their needs and their trades, success, their troubles. She brings an astonishing sense peace back to the North and it spreads south to their allies. The merchants never leave their territories without a purchase, the farmers never fail at raising their crops, and the orphans never go hungry.

The Wolf Queen knows outsiders usually stop by and marvel at the beauty she's created from simple tattered ruins.

And she eventually grows brittle herself and withers away with the leaves that brown in late Summer and fall off their branches once the first snow falls. The Wolf Queen dies of in the middle of night alone in her bed with a fragile smile on her lips. And while her subjects mourn for such a loss, statues of her tall as houses are carved out of marble and steel, and are placed in the Square. Songs are written to reflect her glory, and history texts in every language known are rearranged and scripted to add her name in red ink over and over again.

The Wolf Queen is, overall, the best Queen there ever was to live in these lands, and ever will be.


End file.
